


Actually, life goes on even when Rosie is not writing.

by Orenbeval



Series: Rosie Watson's Diary [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awesome Sally Donovan, F/F, Feminist Themes, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-26 12:29:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9896546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orenbeval/pseuds/Orenbeval
Summary: Well, this is related to the story next door, "Rosie Watson's Diary".(see here if interested : http://archiveofourown.org/works/9658133/chapters/21817898)Because Rosie can't always be around, some stuff has to be written from another POV. :)This is basically John and Sherlock, 13 years after Mary was shot, *talking*.Or other characters, 13 years after Mary was shot, *talking*For full context, please, as said, go and have a look next door.





	1. Tuesday - 12/02/2030

**Author's Note:**

> Well... I just started writing and ended up posting this here. :)
> 
> I guess there will one or two more chapters on an irregular basis.

**Tuesday - 12/02/2030**

John was standing in front of the closed storefront of Speedy’s. He was staring up at the living room window of 221B. It was dark. Bad sign. On the opposite, there was light in 221A, Mrs H. was home, then. She would know he went back, finally. Whatever… she always knew.  John was pretty confident that she had taken care of the flat in some way, that she had managed to leave some handy and easy-to-eat food within Sherlock’s reach so that he wouldn’t, at least, have been starving.

 She had always been the most caring not-your-housekeeper-landlady ever. John didn’t want to imagine a world without her.

However, current mission was to get through that bloody door, to climb those bloody stairs and to get through that other bloody door and… to face whatever would be behind said second bloody door. Straighten up soldier, and… march !

Arf God, he was too old for that shit.

He slowly went through the whole process and even managed to not picture anything too dramatic while opening said second bloody door.

Everything was dark. And everything was painfully reeking of tobacco and… sweat and… something else, more chemical, more acid. God… three days… THREE FUCKING days.

“Sherlock ?”

He turned the light on and saw him : he was laying on the ground, half curled up under the couch. A letter, _the_ letter, a leather band and an empty syringe were lying at his head. His wedding ring was lying there too : he had taken if off.

John’s heart missed a beat.

God, THREE FUCKING DAYS… how could that man dive so deep in so short time ? Shouldn’t there be some preliminary steps ? Couldn’t he just do like everyone else and start with binge watching silly TV while pigging out on chocolate or ice cream or get drunk or…

He went closer : “Sherlock ?”

He threw his hat away, crossed the carpet and swiftly kneeled down, wincing at his aching knees, and looked for his husband’s wrist. Good, there was some pulse.

“Sherlock, come on, let me see…”

He softly but firmly grabbed his husband’s face and patted his cheeks until he opened his eyes with a painful moan. He was unable to focus, at first. But then he saw John, recognized him and he smiled. It was one of those far too rare purely sweet, purely genuinely happy, completely disarmed smiles that would always, till the ends of times, move John Watson to almost tears. He could count those smiles on one hand, this one included.

He gently stroke the unshaved cheek with two fingers and flustered : “Sherlock, love, what have you done ?”

Sherlock’s face suddenly tensed and his open expression turned into something worried and even panicked, eyes now flicking from left to right like unable to settle.

“Sherlock, calm down. Sherlock, no…”

John slowly laid down next to him, left hand under his own head and the right one cupping Sherlock’s cheek, making sure his husband was facing him.

“Calm down, love. Calm down. Here I am, you’re not alone. Shhhh, shhhh… shhhh, look at me, Sherlock, look at me…”

Slowly his gaze went still and he was able to focus again on John. He still was worried. He looked like a trapped cat. He swallowed.

“So you’re back ?”

“Of course, Sherlock, of course I’m back.”

“For real ?”

“Yeah, for real. It’s an argument, it’s not the end of our relationship, of our marriage…”

“I thought…”

“Yeah, I can see that… I see you dug up some very old shit I wasn’t even aware you had kept… and your ring, Sherlock…”

“I… wanted to remind me that… this is not sustainable, I wanted to… proof is… it happened once, it may…”

John moved closer and pressed him against his chest. He put one hand on his nape and the other went gently stroking through his greasy curls. When was the last time he had experienced Sherlock in such a low state ? God, those were the very memories he wanted so badly to be able to forget. At least, _this time_ he was trying to provide some kind of support, and not beating him black and blue and blood. He shivered. He had to be _very_ careful here. His memories would have to stay in the background. This, right now, had to stay about Sherlock. What was this anxiety, this sadness all about ? It should have been something happy, it shouldn’t…

“Don’t leave me… don’t leave me John… I beg you…”

“No, don’t _beg_. There is nothing to beg. Don’t turn us into _that_. Don’t turn me into some creepy heroin substitute.”

Sherlock started to sob. John had a deep deep sigh. This was a bloody fucking damn of a fucking mess.

“What’s eating you ? It’s been two weeks of silent crying… now… _talk_ to me.”

John was afraid, yes. Of course he was, who wouldn’t ? Because _talking_ , implied actually addressing all that very stuff they somehow managed to never talk about. All that stuff he didn’t know (or did he ?) Sherlock was still haunted by. He suddenly realized that… his husband, the very man of his life, could actually still be haunted by that fucking beating, 13 years ago. God… How… why had he, he, John Watson, army doctor, how had he be able to lose it so hard, why… well, he knew why he had acted like this. Now, retrospectively it made not the slightest sense but it had felt somehow logical, at that time. Logical, yes, but right, no. He had been blinded by too strong feelings but… this was no excuse. In the early days of his return to 221B, he had tried again and again to apologize, but Sherlock had never let him. Sherlock had seemed to want this to be forgotten. He had seemed so strong back then… He had seemed so sure about himself… He had dismissed all those weird and crazy past months of misery by a single and disdainful shrug and had asked for Lestrade’s next case. He had been so patient, so caring, so helpful with Rosie and with himself. And John had been too weak to fight at that time. Too weak to imagine that all this was just a façade and that beyond this façade there actually was a broken and terrified man hiding. He should have noticed when he had proposed but… back then he had been struggling himself with old remorse and fears and had to keep old memories from spoiling all those new ones he wanted to make with Sherlock… that time too, he had been weak. But now, he was strong. Now, he was the strong one while Sherlock’s façade was, finally, breaking. What there was behind this dam, shouldn’t be ignored any longer. It was Sherlock’s turn to be weak and to rely on him. That’s how a relationship was working. He decided he had to be… he _would_ be strong enough to face whatever this crumbling dam would free.

“Talk to me. I can hear… anything.”

Sherlock had calmed abit, his breathing was appeased. He was triturating John’s thick white jumper, his favourite one.

“You’re not angry ?”

“About what ? About you smoking ? You doing heroine ? You almost ending up in some psycho criminals facility ? You almost making Inspector Donovan charge us both with moral harassment ? You almost making her organize a drug bust here, at 221B ? Of course I’m angry Sherlock. But let’s save this for later. Now let’s just be here, together, waiting for you to come down and to _talk_ to me.”

He couldn’t resist and dropped a small kiss on his husband’s head, despite the greasy hair. God, he loved that man. God he loved that person.

Sherlock mumbled, hardly audible, as if in great pain : “Mary…”

John swallowed. Of course this… at least part of it, was about _her_.

“What about _her_ ?”

Sherlock remained silent. John tenderly squeezed his nape. He whispered : “So ?”

Sherlock’s low voice answered, hesitant : “Why…”

“Why… ?”

“Why did you marry her _anyway_ ?”

Silence.

" Yes, I was dead. But I went back _before_ you got married. You could have... prevented it."

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. God… _that_ was going to be _difficult_. He had become quite good at expressing his current feelings toward Sherlock too him (this was actually very pleasant) and he was not doing too bad regarding Rosie but… _talking_ … talking about other feelings, old feelings, feelings he used to be ashamed of, feelings that had trapped him… _that_ remained bloody hell _difficult_. Even if the person listening at him was Sherlock himself. Anyway, this had to be done, and it had to be done now. He whispered, forcing himself to press some air through his lips : “Because… on the first hand, I wasn’t really sure… I tried to… initiate something, anything, I don’t know… I tried twice, during the stag night and during the case about that soldier dude in Buckingham Palace… But I needed some confirmation because I couldn’t do the first move without it, I couldn’t… I needed something strong because… I couldn’t… forgive you for having been fooling me _so hard, so long_. Because despite my sayings, at that time, I hadn’t forgiven you. The way you trapped me in that bloody train carriage to get me to forgive you… this was just… I really wanted to… hate you. Because… It was all so confused, I was utterly confused, I wanted to free myself from you, from us, from all that shitstorm of a crazy story I couldn’t handle… I needed to breathe.”

There was a deadly silence. Sherlock had frozen against his chest. Breathing deeply, he went on, with a shy smile. This was easier :

“But… I just had omitted I tiny detail : there is never enough air to breathe when you’re not around. Without you, I’m suffocating.”

Sherlock came back into motion, he felt his finger playing with his jumper again.

“Why… at the Aquarium…”

This question could lead to so many answers… where was this tiptoeing to ?

“Because… I had lost myself. I needed to find myself back, I was… _feeling_ too much. I freaked out. Just lost it. See ? Happens even to dull and average people… even the boy next door can turn crazy with too many contradicting feelings swirling inside his head.”

“You have become so talkative, John Watson…”

“Well… _someone_ has to talk, here, if this is to be made to work somehow… you’ve become so quiet…”

“And now, you’re not feeling too much anymore ?”

“No. Now that the whole world knows how I’m feeling... It actually feels great. Shared feelings are not the same weight than closeted ones. What about you ?”

Sherlock said “I…” and stopped there. He remained silent for several minutes. This little game was turning John crazy. But what could he do ? He had to wait. He would. This time, it was his time to be patient. Be strong, soldier. He softly squeezed Sherlock’s nape again. He could feel his left hip starting to ache, so he shifted a bit. God… he should have thought about a pillow… He could picture Rosie’s nasty smile about his “poor old bones”. However. And suddenly, like his thoughts about Rosie had called something in Sherlock, he broke the silence :

“I promised Watson I would adopt her.”

“Good.”

“I will adopt her.”

“Good.”

And then, suddenly, he asked : “Have you forgiven me ?”

“What ?”

Silence.

“Sherlock, what ?”

“Have you forgiven me for the two years in Serbia ?”

“Of course I have forgiven you.”

“Are you speaking the truth this time ? Last time you said this, you ended up…”

Silence.

John whispered, trying not to tense too much. But this was like getting ready to be stabbed. This was… Hell, yes, this was even more _difficult_ : “Say it.”

“You ended up…”

Sherlock, seemingly as tensed as he was, broke off. John tried to relax, he didn’t want to think that Sherlock might think he could actually lose it again, that he could… This was like ripping his beating heart out of his chest. Sherlock being afraid of him was almost worse than Sherlock being dead. He flustered : “Don’t be afraid, say it. I won’t lose it, I’m not drunk, I’m not fuzzy with swirling feelings, I… just put words on it.”

Sherlock spoke in a toneless low voice : “You hit me so hard…”

John’s jaws clenched. He tried to remind himself not to clench his fists. He tried to relax but _this_ was painful beyond words. But long overdue. He forced himself to acknowledge the information he was getting : “I… know.”

“I needed you so much.”

“I… know.”

“I knew you hadn’t forgiven me…”

“Yeah, I… noticed.”

“I didn’t know what… how… I’m not good at understanding people… I didn’t know how I could… make you forgive me for… for Serbia and for… for the Aquarium.”

John swallowed, in desperate need for air : “I… know.”

“I needed you so much, and you ended up beating me half unconscious in a morgue. I thought this was precisely what I deserved. I thought…”

Silence.

“You could have killed me, I would have let you, I was so relieved to actually see that you weren’t _indifferent_ to me… That I still counted enough… still was annoying enough to be knocked into silence…”

Silence.

“I would have licked your shoe sole if you had asked me to. Anything. Just to make you _pay attention_. Just to exist in your eyes. I was so relieved, so relieved to see I still could cause you to react _somehow_. You were entitled to kill me.”

Silence.

“I’ve said it.”

“Y-yeah...”

“It was as creepy as it sounds.”

“Y...”

“Are you… are you crying ?”

“Yeah. I hate myself.”

Silence.

“After that…”

Silence. John was doing his best to cry silently and to continue to pay attention. This had to be listened at. No choice. His self-pity could wait. The burning hole in his stomach would have to wait before being addressed. He tried as hard as possible to not close his fists around Sherlock’s nape and hair. Not now. That would be… irreparable. Sherlock went on, vey carefully.

“After that, Donovan came to see me, in the hospital. She was as friendly and polite as usual but still, she _looked at me_ and asked me if I wanted to file a complaint alleging domestic violence. Against you, of course. She took a lot of time to explain me that despite my insufferable character, nobody, and my _lover_ even less than everyone else, had the right to lay a hand on me. She actually spent almost one hour talking to me about domestic abuse and well known patterns and that, even if this was about two men, this was in no way different from the usual cases of domestic abuses that she was witnessing almost every week. She was the one to tell me that nobody was entitled to injure me. Never, under no condition. She was the one to tell me that your mental distress and psychological state was by no means to be taken as an excuse. This was not valid, this was abuse, period. She said that Lestrade was an immature fool and a blatant imbecile to not consider this to be properly addressed the way it should be. Well maybe she expressed it in a slightly different, more personnal, way... She also told me that I was the one who had to file the complaint and that she couldn’t do anything if I didn’t want to. She really insisted to make sure that I had understood that she was, as usual, deadly serious, and that I had understood that _I_ was the _victim_ and not the culprit and that the only one to blame for those broken ribs were you. Period. She didn’t let go before I repeated those exact words. She really… cared.”

John was glad this didn’t really came as a whole surprise to him. He wouldn’t have been able to take it and to cope. Not now, not like that. Thankfully he had been aware, at some degree, of Sally Donovan’s action. Greg had told him vaguely, right after the beating, between two eyes-roll, about some useless annoying feministic crap of a battle to always victimise women and turn them into saints. But that this time, Sherlock would get the role of the saint. As Greg seemed to think so little of Donovan’s action, John hadn’t really paid attention then. However, later on, it had been Molly who had brought this back to his attention and who had told him to be careful because Sally Donovan was deadly serious about this domestic violence stuff and that he really should do something about the drinking as she might not be willing to hand him Rosie back under those circumstances. He had started to shout but at that very moment, Stella Hopkins had appeared from nowhere, like a jack-in-the-box (maybe she had been hiding in the bathroom ? John still hadn’t figured it out…) and had warned him, calmly but firmly, that if he didn’t stop the shouting right now and the drinking right afterwards, she would charge him with anything she might think of to prevent him from being able to see his daughter ever again. And she also was the opinion that if Mrs H. and Molly tried, they might be able to convince Sherlock to actually file a complaint and this would be bad. For him. So he knew. And he started to do something about the drinking. And he went back to Ella. And few weeks later, Molly handed him Rosie back. Four weeks later, he was moving back to 221B and life went on. He never again heard about Donovan’s action and this slipped slowly to the back of his head. He was so glad Sally Donovan actually existed… God…

After a brief silence, Sherlock went on : “Actually…”

Between his tears, John made himself repeat Sherlock’s new attempt to talk : “Actually ?”

“I actually noticed that despite the appearances, I had far more friends and support than you seemed to have… I was far less isolated than you were. Sally Donovan’s awareness speech made me realise this. And she also made me realise that you must have been trapped in a kind of abusive relationship too. I asked her, few days later.”

“You… what ?”

Sherlock went on, in his toneless voice, speaking faster and faster : "I asked Donovan about mental domestic abuse, and she told me that was totally a thing. More difficult to spot but a real thing. I asked if the victims usually showed a specific kind of profile but she said that actually… No. All it took was a weak spot, or a weak time lapse or a moment of loneliness or… anything even fugitive in which a manipulative person could stick its claws in. Well… I was high as a kite and severely fucked up but… John… as you keep saying, I’m a smart man, I know how to draw deductions from my observations. And in your case, Donovan gave me the keys. She told me where to look and when I looked, I saw and my conclusion unfolded from itself if I might say. And I was right, as usual. There is only one person on this planet who ever could fool me to the point I almost started to think I was crazy. Really important to notice, this person was conveniently helped by my dear brother, and this person was not you. So, it appeared that I was damaged and had been abused but that you were too. In another fashion, but still. Once again, people did see but didn’t _observe_. John, do you even slightly remember all the nonsense you actually told me on that day… on my birthday ?”

John didn’t want to answer. He was trying to smooth his breathing.

“John ? Do you remember ?”

“Well… when I tried to make you realize you should hook up with The Woman ?”

Did Sherlock had a slight bemused-amused-exasperate kind of a giggle ? John couldn’t tell, the sound was damped by his jumper. Thus, he pulled Sherlock closer to him. He wanted to feel his laugh if he couldn’t hear it. He wanted to embrace his warmth, his very presence, every vibe of his presence. Sherlock had to turn his head, to be able to breathe and to go on speaking in his low voice : “Yes.”

As John really didn’t want to talk about that very first *awkward* hug… he deflected :

“Oh, by the way, you lied… you lied to me, you told me you never texted her back.”

“John, yes, I lied. I’m a lying detective, it happens sometimes. I wasn’t quite sure about… where this would lead to… to be honest, I wasn’t _that_ eager to be sent back to hospital. Two broken ribs, a broken nose, one bloodshot eye and one murder attempt were enough. I was tired, I was...”

John felt his heart get a crack at each word he was forcing himself to articulate in a flat voice : “You were… afraid. Afraid of… me.”

“Yes.” 

That could have been a death sentence. He felt an icy hand grab his throat and press some iron crawls inside his lungs towards his heart which just gave up and chattered into a thousand pieces. His worst fear had just come true. Nothing could attenuate the tears flow and the violent sobbing. Not even the lack of air. He didn’t want to, this should all be about Sherlock, not him, it should have been Sherlock’s moment, not his, but this was… he tried to… in vain… he couldn’t help himself. He rose his hand from Sherlock’s nape to his eyes. Sherlock remained very still. 

“John, you were right… you kept reminding me of your military past and I kept dismissing it… I will never do that mistake again. So I lied. Well actually I did corrected myself in the afterwards, as I told you that I texted her, sometimes. This might have been a bit underrated. But as stupid your suggestion regarding romantic entanglement between The Woman and I was, you were also right in some extend… she likes me, as much I like her, and she is alive and I am full aware of the luck I have to count her as my closest friend. This, I owe you. Because I started answering her texts on a more regular basis.”

John tried to sob quietly. Sherlock slowly went on : “Anyway, I’m just Human, John. Humans are afraid sometimes.”

There was a silence. John was crying as shit, both hands pressed against his face. The last time he had cried that way… Why, the bloody hell, did all his emotional salty teary outbursts involve Sherlock ? 

“You were also right about romantic entanglement in some way. It has actually completed me as a Human being.”

John didn’t say anything, his nose was running, it couldn’t be worse. 

Sherlock’s voice had become dreamy : “We actually should go to High Wycombe… see if it’s really worth it… have never been back there since this triple poisoner’s catch…”

John couldn’t stand it anymore, he had to go up, to move, to blow his bloody nose, to hide, to... to hide away from…

But when he initiated some move to sit up, Sherlock turned his face at him and looked at him. And John was immobilized by the light in those blue eyes. Those fucking sometimes blue, sometimes green, sometimes grey, sometimes dark eyes which were playing with lights and moods on a daily basis, which he would never be able to forget. Those eyes which had haunted him during his most lonely moments, those eyes who saw him and had seen him for what he actually was and never took what he pretended to be for granted. Those precious teary eyes which were now trying to reach his soul. His nose was running. His own eyes were red and swollen, his lips were bitten, he was all wet and sweaty, but Sherlock didn’t seem to care. Well… He was not at his very best right now, that must be said. At least John’s hair was clean and he had brushed his teeth at least once during the past three days. And had showered and… God he all started to cry over again and hid into his fists. 

Sherlock went on : “John, on that very day, while we were waiting for Molly to take over your watch, and you were pretending to have to go and take care of _Rosie_ \- _Rosie_ who you hadn’t seen at last for one week because Molly was keeping her - you were so confused, so not yourself, so angry, so fearful, so shy, so shaken, so awkward…you seemed so out of place, seemed to be reduced to the shadow of what you once had been… you started to tell me about how you cheated on Mary by texting a women from a bus… For God’s sake, John, I wasn’t the one who needed to open my eyes about the misery of your marriage with _her_. I had seen this from the very start… I had been witnessing you diving in some dull and grey and soulless boring life with that… manipulative assassin and I couldn’t do anything but angrily and more and more desperate watch how  you were drifting away, pulled away from me by _her_ … by Moriarty. He almost won. John, you were so wide gone. If it hadn’t been for Sally Donovan, we wouldn’t have found each other back.”

“And for M-o-olly… an-d fo-or St-ella Ho-p-k-kins…”

“Well… be praised the double “ll”, then…”

“Why She-rlo-ock… wh-y a-after all tha-t… wh-y-y di-d y-ou sti-ll wa-ant me-e into-o your li-ife ? Ho-ow come…”

“Because, as I told you… I saw _you_ , my John Watson, my blogger… behind all that nonsense about The Woman and this silly text cheating. You made it quite clear that you needed me, that you wanted “more” than cheating on a bus through texts… I made my brain work and I understood this statement of yours as a quite helpless attempt to give me a desperate hint about your readiness to finally -finally- accept those feelings you had spent such an impressive amount of time in fighting so violently… and then, you made me eat some cake.”

“Wh-a-t i-is the p-p-point abo-bout ca-ake ?”

“That meant everything to me. It meant this wasn’t over, it meant, somehow, maybe, we could… Oh John, how more genuine than _cake_ can an attention actually get ?”

He watched his crying doctor for some time, wiped his own tears away with a swift hand gesture which was interrupted by a painful wince as some diffuse aching seemed to wave through his body while he went slowly up to sit next to John.

“I noticed you stopped drinking, I noticed you went back to this psychiatrist of yours, I noticed you really started to take care of Watson, I noticed you were starting to act more and more as yourself, to feel home in 221B. I wanted to see you smile, I wanted to see you happy. And once… Moriarty was dead… _really_ dead, this could actually happen. I never thought this would last… forever. Can it ?

“Ha-ve you for-gi-ven me-e ?”

Sherlock went silent, he too, was still crying, while looking at John cleaning his nose and his face with his jumper sleeves.

“I could kiss you right now, John Watson. But regarding my current hygienic state, I doubt this to be a brilliant idea.”

“This is hardly an a-nswer.”

Sherlock answered, whispering, looking at his lap : “Yes, I’ve forgiven you. No I’m not afraid anymore of you beating me black and blue. However, yes I’m still, and I will forever be, afraid that _you_ haven’t forgiven me and that you will leave me at some point. Once burned twice shy, as goes the saying… and the burn you left me with, is deep. You actually _staye_ d with _her_ after she _shot_ me, you _staid_ with _her_ and _left_ me alone. I need you John. Have needed you till we met. I'm deadly afraid because... I still quite don’t understand why you’re here… as you hardly ever accompany me on my cases and don’t even write about them anymore…”

“You tweet about them, that’s far better.”

“So… why are you staying with me ? Do you feel indebted towards me ? Because of that beating ? Will you leave me now that I told you I forgave you ?”

John had no energy left. He just rose his head, freeing his eyes, still covering his nose and mouth and stared at Sherlock. He was unable to say anything. He hadn’t understood how came the loop had just circled… How was all this, again, about him leaving Sherlock ? He locked his blue gaze and slowly shake his head. No, never.

“Go brush your teeth, Sherlock Holmes. I want to kiss you.”

But Sherlock didn’t move. He just nodded towards the empty syringe : “I might not be able to get up… right now.”

Another wave of pain made him lose his balance and he slowly laid down again, knees curled up. John sighed and, after having grabbed a pillow to accommodate his poor old hip, laid down beneath Sherlock and tenderly wrapped his arms around him, dropping a small kiss on his nape and pushing one knee between his legs. Sherlock gave in to the hug. He was slightly shaking. Withdrawal would be harder than he had expected. He should text Rosie.

“Sherlock… I love _you, not the cases,_ for God's sake, you silly wannabe smartman. You're a chemist. You know how this works. It's all about chemistry, that's it. Maybe somehow, the curve of your ass works as a catalyser to all thos chemicals reactions but... it is how it is. And... it's not that bad. And no, I won't leave you... I actually want to outsmart you, I want to prove you that you're a dick and that you're wrong. Without the help of your brother. That will make my day for the rest of my life. Waking up next to you in the morning and knowing you got it wrong one more day. Day in, day out. Until you die or... you finally realize you were wrong.This, I will never let slip through my fingers. And... So will Rosie. You're doomed. You're loved."

Did Sherlock smile while gently interlacing his fingers to John's ?


	2. Friday - 22/02/2030

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well... two great women having a chat about a great girl.  
> :)

**Friday - 22/02/2030**

**20:23 – So you told Junior you know me ? Why ?**

20:24 – Because someone should warn her that you’re not a nice girl.

**20:25 -  I told her on multiple occasions. No need for you to intervene.**

20:26 -  I’m Deaf, not dumb. She worships you, you know that and you enjoy it. Don’t deny it.

**20:26 – I don’t deny it.**

20:30 -  Also, sooner or later she will discover the truth. All of it. Including the bits in which you were involved.

**20:31 – I was involved in absolutely nothing. I stepped out as soon I realized what all this was actually about. May I remind you where I live now, and why ?**

20:33 – Might be. But damage was done. You confirmed what he had suspected AND you put him in touch with Mycroft Holmes. That’s not nothing. She will learn about it and I don’t want her to be upset over that in addition to all the rest.

**20:35 – So you told her ?**

20:36 – No. I told her that you are a dangerous person, thus a powerful ally as long you’re not cheated over.

**20:37 – Fair enough.**

**20:38 – You’re such a caring auntie, such a caring sister…**

20:39 – Don’t tell me you don’t care for your brainy one.

**20:39 -  Fair enough.**

**20:39 – It annoys me utterly that… despite ALL one may try, despite the fact that one can be the most badass extreme radical feminist possibly imaginable, as soon it comes to “emotional labor”, it’s us, always us, the WOMEN, who get stuck with it.**

**20:40 – Generally speaking, of course. I KNOW there is always ONE NICE DUDE somewhere outside to whom the “global statistics” do not apply.**

20:40 – Well… the young generation seems to get better at it. Let’s wait 200 more years and this will no longer be an issue. J

**20:42 – You really think she will get all of it ?**

**20:42 – In my opinion, unless she hijacks the Ice Queen and tortures the truth out of him… I really fail to see how she would be able to get to know all of the details… as neither Sherlock nor John know them… all.**

20:42 – She is pretty smart and… determined. And, sure thing, everyone is still eating on that shit. Everyone is in need to talk about it. Even just a bit. Adding a bit to a bit to a bit… she will get the whole picture sooner or later. Mycroft doesn’t know it all neither. Nobody does.

**20:43 – The Hooper girl ?**

20:43 – She knows her bits like all of us do.

**20:46 – Christ… Kate just pointed out that Junior asked me about Janine !**

20:48 – See ? She’s getting closer and closer.

20:48 – I told her that her Mum was abominable.

**20:49 – Sure. An abominable bride.**

**20:49 – I was picnic in that regard.**

20:50 – Less desperate, maybe.

**20:55 – God, Watson ! She took the poor man – your brother - hostage for almost three years, reducing him to almost nothing and for what ? For fun ! Just because Jim Moriarty wanted to play and wanted to have Sherlock destroyed and broken. Broken beyond repair. All she wanted was to use the first available opportunity to get rid of Moriarty. Meaning using Sherlock to get Moriarty out of her way, as Sherlock was his one weakness.**

**20:56 – There was nothing desperate there ! This was all calculated ! And Sherlock did very kindly her dirty job in killing Magnusson for her. So stupid of him. He just… unleashed her !**

20:58 – Well. I don’t know what happened before her death. All the information I got about John was over his blog. I wasn’t even invited to the wedding. I only know what happened after her death.

**20:59 – She played and she lost. Moriarty was not the kind of guy who would let go.**

21:00 – Well he nicely outplayed her. That’s right. However, I wouldn’t say that she lost. John was so far gone under her grip that he remained genuinely convinced, for months, that she had sacrificed herself to save Sherlock from that secretary, Vivian Norbury. And fact is... actually, Vivian Norbury didn’t even get a chance to fire her gun ! She didn't shoot !

**21:02 – How come you know all that so precisely ?**

21:03 – Maybe I was in touch with a certain Professor Hooper who was already dating a certain Inspector Hopkins. I guess you know that first hand ?

**21:05 – Yes.**

**21:07 – Almost broke my heart to read that nonsense of a letter my brainy one got from your damaged one.**

**21:07 – ALMOST.**

21:08 – Almost.

21:09 – Ever got to watch that creepy DVD she sent to Sherlock ?

**21:10 – Nope. But I heard about it. A LOT. I hope Junior will never find it. You saw it ?**

21:11 – No. Only heard (well... "heard") about it from Mrs Hudson. She was pretty shocked. Never understood everything quite well as I’m not THAT good at lip reading. Especially when the person is crying and shouting and shaking one's head all around.

**21:14 – Well… maybe we will all get our answers if Junior is as smart as you think she is.**

21:15 – Can’t wait…


End file.
